


Quoth the Movies

by Merfilly



Category: DCU - Comicverse, DCU Animated, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Crossover, Multi, Quote Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-12
Updated: 2006-06-12
Packaged: 2017-11-27 04:02:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/657832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merfilly/pseuds/Merfilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Several quick scenes worked around movie quotes for a personal challenge</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quoth the Movies

The tall, green man looked around with vague interest at the new establishment Guy Gardner had opened. 

“You will serve fermented beverages here?” he asked.

“Beer, J’onn. Say it for me,” Guy joked.

“And food?” The Martian Manhunter ignored the gibe.

“Even put a malted Chocos shake on the menu, just for you.” Guy’s big grin met erupted at the gleam in the big alien’s eye. “So, is it a deal?”

“It is.”

*~*~*

J’onn looked at the pair of irrepressible permanent juvenile delinquents, as they insisted for the fifth time that they were buddies, and he could serve them from the lunch menu instead of the breakfast menu. He wondered again, why he had allowed sentiment to let him agree to Guy’s idea of having him and the other available first stringers to work on the grand opening of Warriors.

"I shall serve no fries before their time."

* * *

Goldie Johnson was no stranger to big city moves and countermoves. She chased her society scoop, and got caught up in some sly maneuvering. By the night’s end, she was hip deep in trouble, and in Metropolis that could be deadly, despite the clean lines of the city. So far, she had been able to evade most of the trouble thrown her way directly, but she was beginning to feel the need to call on more heroic abilities. When gunfire erupted between the one informant she trusted and some unknown assailants in a parking garage, she figured her day in the ordinary life of a gossip reporter was over. Then the red and blue streak appeared, so she aborted her shift, and opted to keep her identity intact. In the space of a few heartbeats, the hero arriving on the scene had all the perpetrators rounded up, senseless. 

She stepped out when the local hero collared her informant.

“Excuse me, Superman, but I’ll vouch for him,” she said, her voice just a shade brassy, much like her attitude. He watched the Big Boy Scout look her over in consternation, trying to place her. “Goldie Johnson, Metropolis Star.” She started to explain further, before a slight whiff of a potential problem hit her reporter’s nose. He caught it at the same time, as he glanced around.

“Is that gasoline I smell?” she inquired, but he was already moving, clearing all of them out of the garage before going back in to try and forestall any further problems. She thought about hanging around, to clarify things, but then decided brazen gossip columnists did not explain matters to world-renowned heroes.

* * *

The missions had been getting rougher as they went along, trying to undo the chaos wrought by Mongul’s latest schemes. When they finally had a chance to breathe and regroup, Weather Wizard had shredded enough high-rise windows to make the streets shine with glass…just as Flash came through. Despite his speed, and despite the fact most of the glass was safety glass, Batman could not shake the feeling that it might have been a very near catastrophe.

“Wally.” Batman stepped out of the shadows of the man’s room on the Watchtower, after all was said and done.

“Yeah Bruce?” The speedster tried to keep an upbeat note, but his feet hurt. No matter what the boots were made of, no matter his protective field, that stunt of the Weather Wizard’s had hurt.

“Your feet, Wally.” Batman came forward, kneeling in front of where the younger man sat. “Please, let me touch your feet.” He had removed his gauntlets, and his voice was neutral, but there was a look in his eye, conveying far more concern than Wally would have thought possible from the stoic Bat.

“Easy, Bat’s; might make me think you care about little old me,” Wally joked, before making full eye contact. What he saw lurking in those piercing blue eyes took his breath away, and he could only let Bruce do as he wished.

* * *

Dinah threw her hands up in frustration, too tired to deal with this tonight. “I tell you, Ollie, it was awful.” She started changing, first removing the hot, heavy wig and running a hand through her short-cut black tresses. “He had me off balance from the beginning. I could not get my feet under me, could not make my ears stop ringing long enough to focus on him.” She stripped out of the leather bodice with distaste, wondering if it would ever be right again. “And then it happened.” She looked up at her lover, noting he was trying very hard not to laugh. “And the son of a bitch! He kept smiling that damn smile of his as I tumbled headlong into the hotdog cart! My boots, my costume are ruined!”

That’s when Ollie could not hold it back any longer, and he started howling, looking at her red, green, and yellow be-speckled skins, fishnets, and costume.

* * *

He stood at the brink of the building, looking down. Neither hand held the grapple gun. He just stood there, staring at the murky dark night, all the way down to the hard, unyielding concrete below. His shoulders were bowed, his body so small and frail in the civilian clothing he wore. Somehow, it was the lack of the uniform that most unnerved Dick. His quick mind told him that only Tim would think of how inconvenient it would be to everyone involved if the body of Robin were to have to be identified.

“It’s hard. Hard to see them in my sleep.” The voice was strained, pulled taut and near to breaking. “To see them, broken like that.”

“It won’t get any easier,” Dick said, his own voice quiet, low, and filled with worry. “But you know this is not the answer.” His worry increased as his little brother made no effort to move back from the ledge.

“What is? To grow up like him? Alone, unloved and unloving?” Tim’s pitch changed, going flat and mechanical, and Dick mentally backpedaled, trying to find the right words to say. “That path, the Hard Road…you turned your back on it, and still wound up walking it, Dick. Just in a new town, under a new name.”

“Our road may be hard, Tim. But to turn your back and quit now…it throws all of the losses up into the air and tells the world they did not mean a thing, except to break your spirit.” Dick edged just a bit more forward, sure he could spring enough and catch the small teen, if it came to that. “Sometimes, the hardest thing in the world to do, is live in it.” He watched those slender shoulders shake, and then he moved forward instinctively, just as Tim turned back from the edge, needing him. When Dick enfolded him in safe, strong arms, the boy wept, finally letting go the pain within.

* * *

It is a low punch, followed by an impossibly high kick that takes Dick to the ground. He is momentarily stunned, the world spinning in directions counter to his own equilibrium. When his head clears, he is already moving, trying to fight on blind instinct, but Jason is the better fighter. He has power, but now he has skill to guide that power too. Dick is at the disadvantage, and he knows it.

“How can you kill someone you love?” he fires off, expecting to make the other man hesitate.

“Well, it’s easier than dying,” Jason rebuffs, never faltering on his downward blow. Only the cast of a well timed batarang intervenes to foul the aim.

* * *

The British girl had never seen hair quite that white on anyone, especially not a girl who looked seriously young. The eye patch made her stand out a bit more, as well as the way she carried herself. Rose was beginning to wonder just when they were in time, and what in the world the Doctor had been thinking. Unfortunately, he had left her on her own to go visit an old friend, he said. When she had asked why she could not go, he had given her a look, and that had ticked her off just a small bit. So what if he wanted to visit an old flame; he put up with Mickey every time they went home, even if it was grudging.

She looked across the street again, and was surprised that the odd girl was no longer there. Rose shrugged it off and debated going to find the Doctor anyway. Surely someone named Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart shouldn’t be that hard to look up. 

She had just started to step off the curb when she felt a hand on her wrist quickly pull her back into the alley, with another slim hand coming up to muffle her yelp of surprise. It was the white haired girl, her one good eye searching Rose’s face with unflinching hostility.

“Why are you watching me? Why were you hiding in that blue box before I came into view?” Rose’s kidnapper asked, a low menace in her voice.

“You noticed the TARDIS?” Rose had gotten so used to people ignoring it, or even her stepping out of it, that she took it for granted. “And I merely happened to be watching you because I liked your hair color. Never seen anything like it.” She radiated a pure honesty, one that her assailant had only ever seen in one person before. She stepped back, her lips pursed as she shrewdly tried to fit all the pieces together in her head.

“The box is more than it seems. Which means you are not just a cattle minded Londoner.” The white-haired girl’s casual dismissal of Rose’s countrymen was appalling but Rose did not interrupt. She had been with the Doctor long enough to know things could get ugly, fast. “I need a London native; your accent says you are, but you stand out…means you might just do.”

“Now hold on a minute…” Rose began, and the other girl cocked her head to listen, actually. “What kind of help?”

“Just finding my way around town,” the younger girl said, with a disarming smile. “I’m looking for a friend of the family’s relative.”

“You have an address?” On cue, the white haired girl held out a simple piece of paper. What caught Rose’s eye was the fact it mentioned ‘A. Stewart’ at the top of the paper. “By the way, I’m Rose Tyler.” She stuck her hand out, and watched the puzzling girl smile with such glee that Rose started giggling. “What?”

“I’m Rose Wilson, but you can call me Ravager, to keep it straight,” the younger girl said with that infuriatingly pretty but superior smile. She then made Rose give a lasting blush as she looked the older girl over from head to toe. “Very nice, Rose Tyler. Let’s get moving, and maybe we’ll have time for tea later.” The way her lips and voice danced around ‘tea’ made Rose Tyler think of many things that involved a bed, not a parlor, and she felt it was done purposefully to throw her off. 

“So, what’s with the eye? You have a tumor or something to get fixed?” Rose could not imagine why someone who appeared sixteen would be crippled in an eye like that.

“It’s not a tumor.” Ravager grimaced. “I don’t think it will be either,” she muttered. “I had some daddy issues and my eye sort of got caught up in them.” Her explanation made no sense to Rose, but she did hear the curious fear/loathing/wishing in the younger girl’s voice at mentioning her father.

“Is it him that’s a Londoner?” Rose asked, guiding Ravager through the city like a native, avoiding the high tourist traffic for the most part.

“No.” Again the grimace appeared, before being replaced by that smile, the one that made the elder Rose want to get to know her better, just to dig through the mask the girl was projecting. “I’m hunting the only relative of Colonel William Randolph Wintergreen I have been able to find. He keeps an apartment here.” Ravager’s good eye furrowed up, and Rose could almost see her wondering why she had said so much. The London native merely smiled; she had a knack for getting difficult, angst-ridden people to open up, and she was getting that vibe from the pretty teen.

“We’ll do just that then.”


End file.
